I have never read/listened to THE EXORCIST until now.

Just finished listening to the 40th anniversary edition.

The novel - structure, the writing, etc. - is far better than I'd expected.

And Blatty's reading of his own novel is FAR better than I expected - his reading is actually in WOW! SERIOUSLY? WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME? territory.

It's a pretty incredible audiobook - myriad voices, all performed not just well, but enthrallingly - and the story holds up despite its familiarity.
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​(But maybe I should have expected this - Because I was in a situation where it happened to be the only decent-looking book around, I read his sequel, LEGION, probably 30 years ago and really enjoyed it, and the movie based on that, EXORCIST III, directed by Blatty, is totally in WOW! SERIOUSLY? WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME? territory too - an opinion I've held for years now.)

How I Came to Write "Those Who Can, Help"
by
David Bain

I really like the story behind this story, because this story led to one of the great friendships of my life, and because it gives me the opportunity to say a lot about what words can do.

Back even before Kindle Direct Publishing - we beat Amazon’s KDP by a full year or two - I joined The Company That Shall Not Be Named. We were going to revolutionize publishing via ebooks. I think it was mostly PDFs but also a few other formats, and it was actually a lot like what http://drivethrurpg.com/index.php is right now.

It was exciting - at the start, at least.

I recruited authors. I recruited artists. I quit other gainful sources of employment.

Man, I thought I was all set. Freedom as a publisher. Freedom to recruit all my connections to this exciting new format. Even Charles L. Grant and Thomas Monteleone signed on with me to republish a long-ago novella they’d cowritten called When Dark Descends. I commissioned a beautiful cover and everything.

And then the publisher sat on not only that project, but project after project.

He sat.

And sat.

And published virtually nothing.

And paid nobody.

Including me.

And … well, suffice it to say, one day it all imploded with literally hundreds of authors rebelling en masse.

And I put out a statement publically divorcing myself from The Company That Shall Not Be Named, releasing all materials I had worked so hard to garner.  (The Grant/Monteleone piece was eventually picked up and published in hardcover by another company, by the way.)

But.

Along the way, I had intended to put together an anthology of dark fantasy road stories to be called Dark Highways. It would’ve been grand. You would’ve dug it. You see, I have a particular affinity for road stories. For instance, as the major work of my undergrad years, I wrote a 65-page paper exploring road narratives as they’re presented in modern American poetry, from the Beats through Robert Pinsky’s then-current book-length poem An Exploration of America.

And I also had an affinity for horror fiction.

And I wanted to see how my two loves combine.

One of the stories I received was “5:53” by C. Dennis Moore. And, as I recall, I rejected that particular version of that story, giving him some constructive criticism.

I must have handled the correction well enough, because Dennis and I have written back and forth pretty much every day since, for well more than a decade. He’s been there for me through a lot of rough stuff, he keeps me motivated, and we’ve collaborated on books like Band of Gypsies and Return to Angel Hill.

(I eventually did edit and publish a much smaller version of the Dark Highways anthology, available here. Dennis heeded my advice and rewrote “5:53” and it appears in this collection.)

So what about my story “Those Who Can, Help”? I’m supposed to be talking about that, right?

So, okay, shortly after we met, Dennis announced to me and a couple other authors that he had one slot left open in an anthology he was editing called The Book of Monsters. (It’s a nice little paperback, decently illustrated. It’s still available on Amazon, if you’re interested.)

So, because he’s sadistic, Dennis made that last slot a contest between myself and two other writers. My story won.

I was mostly working on my novel Gray Lake at the time. I was working third shift in group homes for the disabled and my job was basically to stay awake should something happen. Nothing ever happened - the residents almost always slept straight through the night - but I got a lot of writing done.

The monster Dennis assigned me was “goblins.” And very specific goblins, as outlined in a long, detailed paragraph he sent me.

The goblins, in this case, are much like the elves in old fairy tale of “The Shoemaker and the Elves”: helpful - until you cross them. (Of course, that’s not exactly what happens in the Grimm’s tale, but the Grimms and Hans Christian Anderson and all those guys were really messed up in their morality.)

So my thought was, Who needs help most of all in our modern-day society? And my obvious answer, given the location and circumstances under which I was writing, was: the disabled. I don’t make much of it, but I’ve worked, in one way or another, with disabled people for about 20 years now.

The title of this story means a lot to me. If you can help, do. (And not just the disabled.)

I wrote the story in a single night, maybe two - Dennis didn’t give us much time. It was due over the course of a weekend. By Monday I was back to Gray Lake.

So let me say something here about following your vision vs. writing to order.

My novel Gray Lake - which will probably always remain my favorite out of my own work - seems to divide readers. It’s not a typical horror novel. It’s long, it jumps genres, and it asks the reader to follow many divergent threads until they’re brought together at the end. And yet it’s exactly the novel I wanted. It’s the vision I wanted. Difficult as it might be for the reader who’s expecting or wanting a casual read, Gray Lake sums up the first thirty or so years of my life and I wouldn’t change a word of it.

So am I selling out when I get an anthology invite and write to order? Hardly.

First of all, you can write to order and stay true to yourself.

Dennis said, “Write about goblins, and write about these particular kind of goblins. Deliver me a good story by Monday and I’ll pay you.” And I did as he asked. And yet I stayed true to myself. I wrote about my disabled friends and their struggles. I tried, through the story, to make the world a better, more sympathetic place.

But there’s also nothing wrong with simply writing to order.

An artist should take up challenges sometimes. And those who can make money by exercising their art, should. Give the people what they want. Sometimes. Just be sure to then go off to your room and let your vision fly free. It can be a satisfying balance.

I’ll add this, since not everyone knows it - I’ve also spent twenty-some years working for newspapers in reporting or editorial positions. I think newspaper writing is itself an art - it’s one art among many open to you in this writing life. The conciseness, the ability to organize information into an inverted pyramid, exercising the restraint to NOT editorialize, knowing your stylebook - it’s all a kind of poetry, really.

I might be shocked, outraged, saddened, emboldened, inspired or otherwise affected by a story, but I’m paid to present it in a certain manner and to make certain decisions which, left to my own druthers, I might make differently.There have been news stories I’ve cried and agonized over, stories which have changed my life. They appeared one way in the newspaper because I was paid to present them that way, and because I respect the craft of newspapermen - while here on my blog, or in my memoirs, the reins would come off and you’d see a wholly different set of words telling the same story.

Words can do so much. You, as a writer, can do so much. You can get your vision down for others to see. You can articulate someone else’s vision. You can win friends, influence people. You can even make money, sometimes. And if you can write, you can write words that help.

Every month, my sometime co-writer (on books like Band of Gypsies and Return to Angel Hill) and co-conspirator C. Dennis Moore and I watch a movie and swap reviews. (He writes a lot more reviews and watches a lot more movies than I do.) This month we're taking on the Stephen King adaptation 1922.

1922: King’s historical tragedy is as much Grapes of Wrath as it is Children of the Corn
by
David Bain

I use some excerpts from Stephen King’s On Writing in my college writing classes, and I often begin the relevant discussions by asking students which King works they know. There’s usually a chorus of It and Christine and The Shining and Cujo and every now and then someone knows something newer like Under the Dome. Usually some have read a book or two, but mostly the familiarity is with the movie versions. Then I tell them a little about his literary legacy, the somewhat controversial O Henry and National Book Medal awards and so forth. And then, partially to discuss how writers (and books and movies - and, yes, even readers - in general) can get pigeonholed, I ask how many of them knew The Shawshank Redemption is from a Stephen King story. Or Stand by Me. Or even The Green Mile or The Running Man. Most students are surprised. Remove the horror and King’s name gets downplayed or virtually disappears. (This is also an exercise in how much attention we pay to the credits, eh?)

Add the Netflix original 1922 to the list of films many viewers might not immediately associate with King.

Most of the “posters” I’ve seen for the film feature nothing more than lead actor Thomas Jane - who also starred in the film adaptation of King’s The Mist - as farmer Wilfred James in a pair of ragged overalls in the middle of a corn field.

Oh, by the way, if you look close, there’s literally blood on his hands.

But most casual observers, I think, will nonetheless be put more in mind of The Grapes of Wrath than Children of the Corn. Which, on many levels, would be an apt assessment. Thus, sans killer clowns or vengeful, self-animated machines, this would appear to be tame territory for fans of category horror films.

Except it isn’t.

The plot involves a particularly bloody and gruesome matricide, and there are scenes with ghosts, mangled corpses and flesh-eating rats. Oh my, are there rats. Simply put, this film is not good for someone with a rat phobia.

Another exercise in how much attention we pay to the credits: I had to go look up the director just now, and I confess I have not seen a single other film by Zach Hilditch.

Which makes 1922 feel like even more of a success to me. This looks like Hilditch’s sixth or seventh film, but probably only his second or third non-indie and quite a departure from his other stuff.

First of all it’s a period piece, a tragedy in the classic literary and stage tradition with quiet undertones despite the moments of murder and mayhem. The cast and locations aren’t very big, and there’s a lot of introspection and psychology going on between the rats and harbingers of doom.

The film looks as bleak as its content. The tone of the film is a sort of relentless, dark, muddy gray - even when the sun’s out, the main farm house is dingy and unpainted, the clothes are faded, Thomas’ body is oily with sweat and his face is dour, lumpen and unanimated despite a sort of undeniable intelligence buried deep in there. The only presence with a hint of color and verve is Molly Parker’s Arlette, and her light is, of course, the one that’s snuffed out relatively early in the film. Her murder is the act that brings about the descent into darkness.
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King’s experiencing something of a revival in film right now - lots of successful, quality adaptations. While success has usually accompanied his name, the quality hasn't always. King’s over-the-top monsters and serial killers can be fun, and many studios are happy to churn out cheesy boogiemen that earn out at least a little over their budget before they quikly fade like the thrill of a cheap jump scare, but kudos to Netflix for taking risks on his more literary, obscure works, like this one and Gerald’s Game.

1922 (2017)
by 
C. Dennis Moore

“In 1922, a man’s pride was his land.”
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But when Wilfred James’s wife, Arlette (Molly Parker, THE WICKER MAN), wants to sell off part of that land--to be fair, the part she wants to sell belongs to her, willed to her by her father--and move to Omaha, Wilfred (Thomas Jane, THE MIST) convinces his son Hank (Dylan Schmid, “Once Upon a Time”) there’s only one way to insure the livelihood of their farm and family.  And since Hank is sweet on neighbor Shannon, moving away from Hemingford Home is the last thing he wants as well.  So into the well Arlette must go.
Seems like a simple enough plan, kill the wife to keep from having to give up the only life you know or want.  But in “1922”, based on the novella of the same name by Stephen King, a simple enough plan is usually anything but.

I won’t go into the details about just how terribly Wilfred has to pay for his sin, but this is not a movie for the squeamish, especially if RATS are your big bugaboo.

Suffice it to say, writer/director Zak Hilditch captures the heart of what made the King story such an effective read.  The harsh conditions of life on a rural farm, the paranoia and dread that creeps into Wilfred’s mind as he start his downward spiral.  And this Ben Richardson kid, the cinematographer, what an eye he’s got.  Seriously, between this movie, GERALD’S GAME, and IT, right now is a great time to be a fan of Stephen King movies.  They’re doing some beautiful work lately.

For me, though, the real star of this movie is Thomas Jane.  I’ve always been a big fan (he was married to Patricia Arquette and starring in Marvel movies before starring in Marvel movies was cool, so he’s got good taste), and I’ve seen him play the dark and brooding character (THE PUNISHER) as well as the light, happy go lucky character (THE SWEETEST THING), and this isn’t his first King adaptation, but man what a difference the project can make.  The less said about DREAMCATCHER the better, but his turn in THE MIST was a good performance, but in the end he’s just a guy playing a guy.  This time, though, he really loses himself in Wilfred James.  From his mannerisms to his speech, even his physical appearance.  Just check out the poster for it, and tell me you knew right away that was Thomas Jane.

Jane carries this movie from the first frame to the last, and he carries it like a champ.  Molly Parker, for her small role, brings many things to it as well.  Light in the beginning, quickly dulling to a shadow of menace early on, but her later appearances are downright chilling.  And I don’t chill easily.
When I first started it, I thought this had the looks of a slow burn movie, something I’d end up watching with one eye while the other surfed my phone.  But that quickly turned out not to be the case and I barely touched my phone at all except to look up something real quick, an actor’s name or the director, something movie-related.  Instead of a slow burn, it’s just one of those movies that, even when there’s no real action on the screen, it’s so damn well made you don’t want to turn away.  And that’s amazing, because my first reaction when I heard this was going to be a movie was, “Well, that’ll be another quicky piece of crap they knock out in a week and toss a title card on.”

WRONG.  Hilditch isn’t just a guy who makes movies, he’s a filmmaker, a serious director making serious art.

IS this movie art?  I’m not sure about that, but he has a huge respect for both the original story and the process of adapting it to the screen.  This isn’t just another job for him, he had a passion for this story and the movie that came from it, and that passion shines through.
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Turn off the lights and silence your phone and sit back to a Netflix double feature of this movie and GERALD’S GAME and that will be a night very well spent.

Brawl in Cell Block 99 (streaming on Amazon Prime as I write) features some amazing out of the frying pan, into the fire grindhouse ultraviolence.

​Jaw meet floor.

Thing is, it has long quiet stretches too, but that only makes the brutality hit home.

And Vince Vaughn like I would never have dreamed.

And Don Johnson, chewing up cigars and scenery.

I've kind of hated Vince Vaughn in the past because ... well, he often plays a sort of jerky character that rubs me the wrong way - rubs me like steel wool on my scrotum, in fact. But in his role as Bradley Thomas, skinhead drug courier with a moral compass that seems to point somewhere north of "thou shalt not" but south of how half those lines finish, he is fully redeemed in my book. I find myself wondering why he even took this role when Silly Swinging Christmas Wedding Crashers III was probably available to him. 

I also kind of hated Don Johnson during his Miami Vice days, and maybe even more for his album than for the fashion choices he foisted on my generation. He's been redeemed in my book since at least Django Unchained and Cold in July and I'd even half-heartedly throw Tin Cup in there too.

The direction of this film. Yes, the slow scenes vs. the action. S. Craig Zahler did this in his terrific Bone Tomahawk too. But what caught my eye is the fight scenes. They tend to be long takes with full body shots. None of the hyperkinetic editing where the director only had to film a fist here, an unidentifiable blur in motion there. It really looks for all the world like these guys are fighting, like limbs are being broken, like skulls are being crushed.

I also loved the way a certain shoot-out was filmed. Zahler seems to actually be aware of the way most shoot-outs really occur - at super close range. There's a Grand Theft Auto aspect to it - one of the bad guys even blows up a cop car with a grenade - but even this and the cop-bad guy chatter is surprisingly real, going down fast and ugly, with some excellent sound editing too as Vaughn's character moves closer to, than farther away from, then back toward the action.

I also loved the lighting and the contrast between the two prisons Vaughn experiences, the way his entry into the first prison is told in slow detail to highlight the hell of the second.

And, thirdly, I was simply wowed by the script, how bad things got for Bradley and how quickly it all happens - the crux of the plot involves the kidnapping of Bradley's pregnant wife. Early on, Bradley is counting down the days until the projected birth. The cliche would have the action happen close to the birth, but the countdown doesn't get to progress far at all.

I went in expecting something more in the vein of a Planet Terror send-up, but Zahler's use of language and grindhouse tropes doesn't call attention to itself the way Tarantino's or Rodriguez's might. Neither Bradley nor the thugs he runs with are men of grand soliloquies, and rightly so and, as I indicated above, while there would be plenty of opportunities for the camera to dazzle, it's more about what the camera captures than how. 

So, Brawl in Cell Block 99 is not a fun movie in the way something more stylized like Pulp Fiction might be - the violence here is more in your face, definitely not for the faint of heart - but the almost quiet craft on display is something we rarely see in films that are consciously set in an otherwise over-the-top B-movie universe.